


Blood Must Have Blood

by DerWolfe



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Gen, Post-Canon, Thriller, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-14 08:07:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4557057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DerWolfe/pseuds/DerWolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Have you ever wondered if love can still bloom even on a battlefield?</p><p>Clarke ventures to Polis, emotionally battered by the war and feels that a bullet to the Commander's head is the only thing that can give her peace. Lexa, on her end, is confronted by a group of Grounder rebels - ultimately led by one she trusted the most - which puts her leadership, her people - and her life - at risk.</p><p>Blood will have to answer blood this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1 - Torva Messor

_Who we are and who we need to be to survive are two very different things._

The battle at Mount Weather had finally come to an end. It was won with so many casualties in the front line, and the screams of death still fresh and haunted the living. Even the victory did not lessen the underlying sick feeling in their stomachs. But no one dared to mention anything about what happened in the Mountain. How the sound of the soldiers' boots plodded the ground as they drag them down to the dungeon and inside a solitary room where a bed almost twice their size lay in the middle, contraptions ready and waiting for its victim. How the whirling and high pitched sound of the drill from the hands of these men crack open both their flesh and bone, fresh blood oozing out like a stream towards the ground. Even after all those ghastly memories, they were finally walking home. Back to The Ark. Back to their safe haven. The silence among them was their fanfare. Now the battle will become but another piece of a tragedy that will make their life even more worthwhile.

_Victory stands on the back of sacrifice._

It was that mantra that echoed inside Clarke's head when she pulled the lever with Bellamy to irradiate level 5 in Mount Weather; killing innocent civilians, and even children in order to achieve that very victory: to save their people. The damage was irrevocable, but in her heart she knew it was the only thing she could do. She tried her best and damn them if they told her otherwise; to make the right choice. Be the wishful good guy that her dad could be proud of. But ironically, the right choice that she made turned her into something else, something way repulsive and completely remote from the time they first landed on Earth. Clarke Griffin. Once crawled with the innocence of a child on a foreign land, stripped in a matter of a second with the normality of living, burdened by the overwhelming decision of being a leader among the survivors, acknowledged, respected and feared. To others, she was their savior. The only one who would put a foot down when others would not. Some would think her actions were understandable, given the desperate scenarios that had happened a few months prior where blood spilled every waking hour and lives tick every passing minute.

However, some people still thought that the act was incomprehensible. Why would she slay so many, over a thousand just to save only a few? What justifies the right from the wrong in war? Who gave her; a simple 18-year-old girl the right, the power to command and dispose their lives?

_Think with your head, Clarke. Do not let your feelings stop you now._

Yet another voice whispered in her head. It drifted silently inside, and then it grew thick until it roared like an untamed beast enough to paralyze her. Clarke stood outside of camp, feet frozen with a torrent of emotions. Everyone was finally home safe. She looked for a brief moment at the faces of the people she saved, her own mother, the soldiers, and even the happiness visible on the laughter of her friends. And then it came like a knife to her gut the picture in the monitor room of the faces of people she burned in Mount Weather, desperate, screaming and withering to corpses. The guilt was now at the pit of her throat, and she wanted to throw up.

Bellamy approached her. His hard face evident with the smile from their victory, one arm extended towards Clarke, urging the blonde to go inside with him. It came out barely inaudible, but Clarke said something, something sad and lonely. His eyes widened and it was the first time he felt that she was so far away. The look of concern became visible on his face. Clarke did not look at him straight in the eye, terrified that he would pick up what she was feeling in the present, that he would be able to tell that despite how Clarke would want to join them inside the camp, he would figure out that she wanted nothing more than to run away at this very moment.

He wanted to say something else. Maybe something witty, political or whatever. Bellamy knew that Clarke was ready to turn her back, but the right words to make her stay died inside him. He met her sharp blue eyes and then almost immediately, sadness crept all over his face and a pitiful look of longing followed. He voiced out reasons, begging and desperate, but Clarke answered him, even more resolute.

_I bear it so that they don't have to._

She kissed him on the cheek and Bellamy took comfort in this. They hugged inside a sphere of mutual agreement. He whispered forgiveness in her ear. It felt hollow. It felt impetuous. Yet it stings with a little hope. But Clarke could not stop the ever swirling anger in her heart, even at how genuine that word came out of her co- leader's mouth. Forgiveness had never sounded so bizarre to a killer. She had been too slow to save everyone. She was their leader, but in the end, she walked the land with an iron fist to decide, ultimately the fate of their lives. But she knew better. She left nothing but destruction on her trail. She was nothing but a murderer and more lives will end under her command.

So she left. That was the call.

\-----

Almost three months passed after that. Under the eyes of various sceneries, Clarke had ventured to different places, both known and unknown among the delinquents. Once, she revisited that same lake they encountered when they first landed on Earth. It was the same lake that she and her friends partook in a moment of joy, where the sight of clear water seemed to have easily marveled them so. It was also the very same lake where they first saw a man-eating water snake. It didn't come as a surprise how such a land could be both beautiful and unforgiving at the same time that even something so visibly serene could have teeth to kill even the most naive.

She made her first stop there. It had been an excruciating walk and her feet were almost revolting against the torture called walking. She was careful not to leave any tracks in case someone from Camp Jaha would follow her. The sound of running water rung in her ears, and it felt like music, peaceful and soothing. She looked for any movement in the lake and huffed out a sigh of relief after acknowledging the absence of the said beast.

Clarke proceeded to remove her jacket, followed by the gray shirt, gloves until her top was bare. She made a dip, felt the cool water on her feet first, slowly submerging half of her lower body, deep enough until she could no longer see the callousness of her feet. The water healed the tiredness in her muscles, but it took no qualm to still her ever restless mind.

She thought she would not get over her self-exile. It took her weeks before she did yet the ghosts of the dead was forever cradled on her back and no matter how many times she tried to wash the blood on her hands, the invisible yet burdening scars never faded away. The scars burned fresh and they stung every step. Once, she had imagined putting a gun in her mouth and firing a bullet - fabricate that one last feeling - a euphoria analogous with living but she chose not to. Self-murder was never the answer to anything, even if it was enough punishment for someone who decided to commit a genocide.

But it wasn't Clarke's body that had been weariest after all of this; her heart had died when _she_ left her to die in front of that metal gate and her insides became nothing more but a big wrecking ball she chose to tread on her leave.

_Love is weakness._

There was a sudden rattle in the brush behind the log where Clarke's backpack lay. It became silent for a few seconds and Clarke wondered if she would have to dye her hands bloody again. Then a boar, half her size, emerged from the shrubs, nose sniffing and trotting past the rocks and to Clarke's remaining rations, failing to notice the presence of the Sky Girl observing from the waters.

There was a hunger in her chest that Clarke could not justify. It felt like a storm, coiled with unexplained emotions and easily provoked. It didn't take a second before the gun was raised and then gunshots followed after. Bullets fired with no stop. Whatever life that remained on the creature ended with another bullet to the heart. It did not take long before it stopped struggling and ceased, tears and blood pooled in one on the dirt.

The storm softened in her chest and relief washed all the remains.

It was not the urge to pull the trigger before even realizing it that frightened her, but more of the lack of empathy for using a gun to end a life. Clarke was never a fan of violence. She was the last among her people who would choose bloodshed over logic. But maybe life should be all about survival regardless of the means. She doesn't deserve any better. It felt weirdly normal. It felt like it was the only right thing that she could do.

The path to forgiveness was still a long way. She'd wash her hands again and again until someone could reason out that it was wrong to shoot someone dead in a heartbeat.

But for now, the critter would make an excellent dinner.

\-----

She did not mean to remember the place, but her body had a fascination for revisiting old wounds. And before she knew it, Clarke was already standing above the hidden underground bunker that Finn discovered. It was supposed to be a shelter built for nuclear war, yet no survivors after the apocalypse ended lived to tell the tale. The place was still intact, however, hidden among the dirt, rocks, and mosses. Only a few of them knew of the place and they were secretive of its existence.

It became a sanctuary when they were in despair.

When Clarke opened the hatch, she felt dead air ooze out of the blockhouse. She recalled the dead corpse of a Grounder that was left here, fed to hungry flies and insects, mercilessly executed with no remorse by Finn's hand. The stench of death hung so dense and Clarke felt immediately ill when she reached the bunker floor. She made her way to one of the wooden shelves to light one candle, and slowly her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room.

Finn had been one of the dearest people to her; the very first man who befriended her when the delinquents shunned her for her upbringing. Teased and called her a Sky Princess. Clarke was attracted to his liberated self. He was both tact and impeccable, knew how to say the right things at the right time; a complete opposite of Well, her best friend, and perhaps that only friend she ever had. His love for her made her strong, and she knew it was not the emotional fluctuation in their brains which was caused by the war that made them seek each other. It was like being with him was a breath of fresh air in this war-torn land.

And then the execution flashed to her mind; the man she loved tied to a pole with thousands of Grounders screaming for justice. Torch fire flickered all around the darkness. It was that very moment where Clarke blamed herself for being weak, for deciding to leave them when they burned a mass of Grounder warriors alive outside the drop ship. Finn had been a different person after that. His sin visible and so deep, and deeper it went as more blood spilled on his face from lives he took away with a gun. Ruthless, cold, paranoid and unhesitating to spill more. He only wanted to save Clarke because he felt for her. He felt love, and ultimately it was that very emotion that made him bleed until his last breath. Love was never without a tragedy and it ended when she stabbed him in his heart.

What could have been more painful? Dying at the hands of savages or breathing your last at the hands of the woman you loved the most?

When the first candle light died, she lit another and Clarke sat there until the foul stench of death no longer bothered her.

\-----

Another one of Clarke's stop was almost miles away from the drop ship where the entrance was near the dense forest she and her friends had been oddly familiar with. The following area was new to Clarke though. The trees stood higher and the light barely got in with the burly branches expanding towards each other. The eerie silence made Clarke wary about the thought of encountering a Reaper or another pauna. At the deepest area of the forestry, Clarke stumbled upon a camping area, graced by a few Grounders before the vicinity was abandoned. Perhaps it had been days since they left. Surprisingly, their tent still stood and vacated with leftover scraps. Clarke took her time to restock for the chill following her was disturbing, and the temperature in the forest was abnormally lower. The tent had a small unopened box and it didn't take long before it got unbarred upon first sight.

The box had a brown muffler, which could cover half of the blonde's torso. Bandages. Herbs. Tiny vials and a bunch of paper.

During the months of her travel, Clarke had heightened her senses for survival, and less of anything else. She hunted, cooked and made her own shelter with her bare hands. Self-preservation had been her top priority. The piece of fabric would serve to tent her freezing body. Apparently, her favorite jacket, sturdy and all during the war was not able to survive the trek and she remembered losing both of the sleeves when she used each as a bandage to cover her leg wound when she - accidentally - fell off a cliff.

Besides, it wouldn't possibly be atrocious to pilfer items that were just abandoned.

Clarke took everything and placed the items in her sack. She lazily wrapped the cloth around her neck. It felt just like that time in TonDC. The thought of wearing a Grounder property made her a bit sick because she could vividly remember every damn thing that happened there, but their clothes were surprisingly adept to the harshness of Earth. The fur was soft, warm and overall comfortable for the sky girl to carry.

Outside, Clarke noticed the faint tracks on the soil. Slightly noticeable tracks. The prints weren't as clear as day, but it wasn't difficult to map out where they headed after this.

She followed the road a bit until she saw a clearing. A tree post, almost thrice her size stood in the middle of camp and Clarke approached it, curious about something only to be struck surprised with the sight of a red cloth carefully wrapped on its trunk.

Red reminded her too much of things. Blood, death, anger, passion, and love. It was something she could not believe possible herself, but Clarke thought of this impossible possibility when they first met.

 _She_ burned with a fire that Clarke could not control. Made her feel so much with just a look, and she remembered how _her_ searing presence was no more but a pretense when she held Clarke for the first time. The embrace felt like water, careful and calming; and _her_ kiss touched Clarke's and she tasted the earth from _her_ lips. There were too many sensations in just one person and it was intoxicating. Clarke got addicted and she paid the price. Love found another way to be a bitch in her life.

Clarke unwrapped the piece of red cloth from the wood. There was a scent that lingered and it was oddly familiar. No one among the Grounders wore any garment painted in crimson aside from their leader. It meant nobility and power. It meant beauty and strength. It meant as a right given to a person to rule a battalion.

The cloth rested on the palm of her hand. Clarke gazed at it for a second, almost in trance yet answers never came to calm her. The thought that this could have been a message did cross her mind, but after the events that transpired, _she_ even had the damn to do something so subtle? Her body flushed with so much emotion at the memory. She was angry, full of spite, and she wanted nothing more than to punch that bloody woman's face until her knuckles bleed

But at the end of the day, Clarke felt the loathe on herself more.

So much she could literally feel the hatred choking her throat.

She hated herself for falling in love with someone who crushed her senseless.

Loathing over the phantom in her heart would not do her any good, and so she moved forward, keeping the cloth in her pocket. Clarke followed the faint Grounder trail which led her in the middle of nowhere. The tracks ended near a crossroad. North, east or west. Three possible scenarios. Three possible endings. Clarke saw a sign nailed to a tree that faced north. There were writings, possibly done with blood, but it was written in hieroglyphs, obviously not English alphabets that she could not decipher. It could be the written version of the Grounder language, Trigedasleng. A complicated language would complement a really complicated writing system.

She did understand this one word: _**OUTSIDERS**_

Clarke was still new to their culture and she never encountered them writing anything even during their war meetings; barely even aware if they were literate enough. But their leader once said that there exist a city where Grounders lived peaceful lives and flourished. How the city promised a new impression on Grounders for the Sky People so that they would understand each other more in a non-violent way. She described it with so much color that Clarke wondered it if was even true. It sounded something that came out of a fairy tale book.

Clarke inhaled, exhaled and let out a small laugh. She pulled a tiny coin from her pocket. It would have been valuable back in space, barely enough to buy her bread, but none of these slivers meant anything here on the ground, well, nothing aside as a form of amusement. She placed the silver near the joint of her finger and flicked it with her thumb. It rose to the sky with a 'ting'. Clarke grabbed it full with her hand as it fell. The head would usher her to go north. The tail would beckon her to take the east road, which doesn't look promising.

She took a breath, gradually allowing the coin to decide her fate, and then she opened her hand to see the coin's head visible.

North aka. Walking into a Grounder trap. That was probably a good sign. She had no goal in mind at first, but with this Grounder city that seemed to have been stuck in her head, Clarke figured to pay a visit. She'd also like to see something or someone breathing and walked with two legs after all the miles of solitary walk.

The north road was creepier at most. The sign could have been a warning of impending danger and Clarke cursed herself for not reading a lot about the Trikru's language during the Coalition. Her hand gripped the handle of her pistol as she walked with careful steps. Clarke found the lull in the desolated area quite comforting, but she guessed that anything might prowl unexpectedly in this kind of ambiance and she had to be both cautious and diligent.

The sun was setting and she had to make haste and find shelter. The forest beasts would grow hungry once the light died out and danger would quickly fill the void. Her gun would not be able to save her from things she could not see.

The temperature was falling too fast as well and freezing to death was the last item on the list of Clarke's reasons for dying. Luckily, Clarke saw a huge tree among its neighbors where it stood proud and completely different. It had branches stout and long, with green leaves lush enough to use as a cover for pending predators. There was a small opening near its roots. It was the perfect pseudo-resting place for Clarke to shack for the night. It wasn't luxurious like a tent, but it would manage to keep her sheltered until sunrise. The two flint stones she happened to snag in the Grounder camp proved her useful and it produced a fire strong enough to keep her warm. Clarke rested her back on the tree's trunk and let out that despondent sigh she had been keeping the whole day.

Slowly, she closed her eyes. The iron curtain in the forest soon turned into a deafening sound to her ears and Clarke hoped that after all of this, she still had the ticket to dream of something wonderful.

Something that did not involve seeing a mountain full of corpses.

For the past few months, Clarke's body had been rather flaky and even the faintest sound in her surroundings was enough to bolt her in full gear. There was a snap, possibly from a twig on the ground and then silence followed. Clarke's hand automatically held her gun upward, knowing that she wasn't alone anymore and raised the barrel within eye level. She heard her heart drumming twice as fast until it was the only thing she could hear.

_Croak._

Clarke had never looked so dumbfounded in her entire life. She saw the intruder; a tiny round creature with stubby long legs. It had an almost transparent chin, which grew bloated as it inhaled oxygen in its lungs. Back in the Ark, her father gave her books about the creatures that used to wander in Earth before the apocalypse. She read about the dinosaurs before they became extinct and preceded by carnivorous mammals and reptiles alike until the present time when she learned that some beasts had been domesticated and not all were that fearsome like their ancestors. Clarke ransacked her brain and remembered that this tiny harmless thing was called a furoug? Frak? No, that wasn't it. Frog, yes. The critter was addressed as a frog. Either way, the creature stood near the campfire. Its skin glowed a bit when it exhaled air. The frog never did anything but stood in front of Clarke. dumbfounded as they both were. It eyed her a bit, croaked louder, wagged its tail and then jumped into the shrub until the silence was back once more.

Hold it.

Frogs, if her memory was clear as day, had no tail in its anatomy on the book she read.

The quizzical look on Clarke's face did not leave her after the realization. She stood and hoped to follow the peculiar creature to examine it, but before she could leave the shallow pit of her sanctuary, the wind rustled and a cold breeze followed. Her muffler did a good job to keep her from freezing.

In the darkness, Clarke noticed a flicker of green at the corner of her eye. It made no sound at first, and a minute later the lone green light became a multitude of tiny dots that filled Clarke's eyes. The image of the galaxy flashed right before her. They were like stars with shades of yellow and emerald, dying and breathing, like a candle light that burns and then fades away. The stillness was gone that instant and the forest was filled with light with the woodland around her glimmered with the same hue.

Clarke held up her hand, hoping to touch the glamour in front of her; completely mesmerized by the swarm of fireflies dancing around. They pranced and made their presence, illuminating the forest area with the same shine as the moonlight, and for the first time, no longer did the darkness scared Clarke and she felt peace.

Clarke looked at the night sky.

The moon was beautiful.

While the color red reminded her too much of the throbbing anger in her heart, the color green reminded her of the hurt. The moment of painful clarity. The betrayal. The nightmarish scenario when the woman she thought she loved turned her back with her warriors and abandoned Clarke to fight demons by herself.

_May we meet again._

Clarke remembered Lexa.

The Commander's emerald eyes that looked at Clarke's, strong, bound and determined yet full of love and longing that made the sky girl weak to her knees. Green eyes that she used to worship and loved back in a moment's notice regardless of their calling. Regardless of the war. Regardless of how raw she still felt with Finn's death. Yet Lexa, wise and unyielding as she had always been, with or without the war paint on her face already had this power in her that Clarke, even with her quiet 'not yet' was captured completely.

After the battle, Clarke had been indifferent and almost dead if not for her boiling resentment towards the Commander, and her travels were nothing but an excuse to run away from everything. Clarke hadn't really guessed of what she'd do if saw Lexa again so Polis; the promised land of the Grounders became her next destination.

She had already ended one life after another.

She had already killed the man she loved and survived the guilt.

If the nightmares would stop, and then probably Clarke could start forgiving herself.

So maybe, just maybe, she thought, that putting a bullet to the Commander's head would finally end it.


	2. Chapter 2 - The Dreadmouth

_"The beast went this way!"_

_"Follow the tracks!"_

The sound of blood-curdling screams and neighing of horses, their hooves beating the ground woke Clarke from her sleep. The sun rose earlier, but the chill of last night still lingered and it was easier for Clarke to get back to her feet with enough vigilance. She stamped the fire - or whatever's left of it - dead and assessed the close voices reverberating in the area; one hand already clasped on her gun, the other she used to raise the cloth wrapped on her neck to conceal half of her face.

_"Kill it when it appears!"_

Almost instinctively, Clarke felt the adrenaline spiked, the blood in her veins surged and the danger alarmed in her head. She heard too many voices. It could be a pack hunting in broad daylight for food and the sky girl felt nothing but bare at the moment. She wasn't in the mood for trouble. Clarke peeked her head around the side of the tree, deeply dreaded of what was approaching and saw the group, almost a few meters away, slowing their pace, horses on a slow strut until they stopped to re-assess the situation.

"Echo, wait." One man, tall and bulk spoke - in English - with a hoarse voice towards the woman in front of him. He went down of his horse and unsheathed the sword on his hand. The sword was almost twice his size, which looked like it could kill an army. His hefty stature reminded Clarke of one of Lexa's generals. "I think it is unwise to follow it blindly. We should consider turning back for now."

The Grounder woman, or Echo as how he addressed her, shook her head, completely disinterested by the man's words at all to even look at him. Her unwavering eyes scouted the stretch for any peculiar movement. She heaved out a sigh.

"Don't be ridiculous, Ogon." She replied as she carefully dismounted her horse. She handed the reins to one of the warriors beside her who took it with a slight nod. "That monster will kill more innocent people if we just let it be."  Echo kneeled and callously touched the faint tracks on the soil, tracing the outlines and carefully appraising their prey on the loose. The track was far too crisp like it had been imprinted on the ground just a moment ago and the magnitude of it sent a shiver down to her spine.

Her gaze flared. Her voice suddenly steeled and determined.

"We cannot just stop now and leave it alone."

Ogon's eyes narrowed, almost half in agreement as he felt the grit in his fellow warrior. But this was not a wolf or a bear, which they would gather for pelts or meat to be turned into a meal; they were hunting for an entirely different beast with enough madness for slaughter. Shrewd and vile all at once. "My daughter," His teeth gritted, and swallowed the pain with difficulty as if he had choked on something. The memory of her loved one burned too fresh in his mind. "She suffered greatly. I'm sure her warning served more purpose than this."

"Skye had fought well, Ogon. Whatever disabilities, I'm sure she could still live her life fully." She assured him with her sympathies and Ogon felt like the world had been lifted from his shoulders. "She'd welcome you back with a smile."

"I know." He answered with a bit more hope. "I will make sure that everything is not for naught."

"We will get back what has been lost."

Clarke pulled her face behind the tree and gasped in both surprise and disbelief. She noticed two things. First, the Commander wasn't with the group, and great, since her absence would save her the bullet and pain - and possibly death - for the day. Second, and, perhaps the greatest shocker was that the Grounders were talking about a monster loose in the open here in this woodland. A monster? She could not help but laugh in her head. The greatest threat they had encountered on the ground were these men and the fallen people of the Mountain and now they had to be distressed once more with these creatures beyond their understanding; prowling and ready to eat their flesh alive?

Suddenly, the image of the two-headed deer, the frog with the tail and the atrocious water snake living in the lake flashed like vivid pictures in her brain, and she tried to press logic of their existence. Animals deformed by the nuclear radiation that happened almost a century ago. It wouldn't come as a surprise that some beast survived the apocalypse only for their lineage to be cursed, warped into something horrendous. They were survivors just like everyone else. And the ground is also theirs for the taking.

Clarke poked her head out once more, even more curious.

"The trail stopped here...?" Echo looked past the trees, the bushes, bewilderment spread on her face. She saw nothing.

_"Ekko! Blood! There is blood over here!"_

One Grounder shouted while pointing to a tree just a few distance away from them. His face seemingly thick with horror at the sight. Echo and Ogon ran towards his direction only to be surprised and frozen at the sight. They noticed a pool of blood, fresh and horrid and the putrid smell of a corpse hang behind the stock.

A fellow kin, but they could not recognize the victim. His - or her - body had been scrunched out, leaving the innards of the person's torso visible. The victim's fingers had been mangled, some settled in the dirt, bones, and flesh protruding while some were still intact. It was a mess.

"By the gods..."

"That's a very clever warning." Echo scoffed. However, she felt no fear in its presence. Her muscles just bulged in anger. She crossed her arms on her chest. Her fingers brushed lightly on the hilt of her sword with the same ache to slice something in half.

Clarke was cautious - and careful enough - to get a good glimpse of the group's disclosure and sweet jesus how she blamed herself for doing so. The spectacle of morbid remains was the last thing she would want to see at the present. She nearly gagged, but she swallowed that sick underlying feeling which nearly came out her mouth. She took a sharp inhale, exhaled with forceful rhythm until her she felt her breathing evened. She swung the hood of her cloak over her face. The list of reasons to stay did cross the sky girl's mind. She had always been a curious lad -- for better or for worse, and the nameless fear for the unknown held her still. This incident involved something else entirely, and it was probably something she could shoot at will. Thank gods.

But she also had all the logical alibi to step back and move on. To resume her quest to Polis, wherever that is. Lexa was not with them. The bullet she had saved for that woman had not left the barrel of her gun. Her anger and her murderous intent for that one specific grounder, however, had washed out for a bit over the ghastly sight of the dead at the present.

It made her remember things. Painful things.

She had to walk away and forget.

She had to and yet her body refused to move at her order. She tried to use willpower this time just to make a step, but her legs condemned her from moving an inch, as if they were terrified and wired by something -- so close. Clarke's breathing turned ragged and her heart sank at the realization.

She felt the air around her grow thick and something, a smell lingered and it made her nauseous.

She was being watched.

"There are crisp marks on this trunk. This has been a recent kill."

The grounder woman touched the tree adjacent to the stock of where the corpse was. The mark was large and done by vicious claws, powerful enough to nearly ruin the tree with sheer force. Even the greatest of warriors would not fare over something this monstrous. Ekko shrugged at the thought. The Grounders had survived various onslaughts through guts and strength and this creature had jeopardized these qualities by merely offering them the corpses of their loved ones like it was a cycle. It would not be long until the Capital would be wary of the situation. There would be another bloodbath, and countless of warriors would be killed over something inhuman.

She survived the Mountain with only her tattered ego left. She trained bloody over the past few months not to let that happen once more.

She'd survive and meet that man again with deep brown eyes.

She had to kill this thing as soon as possible.

Ogon eyed Ekko, who looked mortified in her personal silence. He examined the mark and circled around the tree. Upon touching the trunk on the other side, he noticed a froth, wet and smeared from top to bottom. It looked a bit raw and it reeked of something else entirely. Ogon had to bit his lip at the stench.  He snapped his head upward and saw another carcass, hanging suspended on the branch and there was a pair of eyes, staring - preying - at him and it glowed for a moment like fresh blood before it vanished in the hollow darkness.

And then above him, he heard a rushing roar of air and the tree's bent to the fury.

Alarmed, he shouted in his native tongue, hoping to get his point across. He waved his hand outside of the clearing and towards the direction of their horses.

_"Clear out! The Dreadmouth is still close by!"_

_"What?"_

_"E-Ekko!"_

It attacked too fast. It moved like that of a lightning bolt in the sky where it sundered the earth and fade just as soon, exalted and revered. The trees rumbled in a unified motion. Out of the bush, a warrior, battered and bloody emerged with meek steps. He cried out before his upper body got gnawed in half. It tore with a blaring sound and whatever part of him that was left fell on the ground, limp, trashed --- another body count tragically added in a pile of bones.

And then it appeared. The Grounders stared at the beast, mesmerized and frozen.

The roar was frantic. It was madness with a voice and it froze Clarke to her feet. She looked back and heard the rummage of footsteps. The Grounders were scrambling out of the woods. Their swords, spears and bows clasped tightly in their hands. The trees in the vicinity broke, one by one, and out came something big, something monstrous, charging with its stout legs. It looked similar to a lion with its bare fangs out in the open, slick with blood and saliva. Its mangy hair wrapped on its neck, down to its muscular torso, crisp and golden just like the sun. It had horns that arched like lateral branches on the tip of its scaffold, perturbed out of its head and near its pointy ears.

It was majestic. It was a nightmare. If death had a face, this was probably its reflection.

_"Don't hold back! Attack!"_

The battle felt like it got dragged for hours. A volley of spears and arrows were fired and the sound of metal and flesh ripping resounded in the area until one luckily landed on the beast's flank. The creature made a throaty yowl before it spat acid from its mouth which stopped the front line warriors from coming near. Clever. There was a battle-cry that came out of its throat soon after, but the unrelenting barrage of steel never stopped and soon the cry of war were coming out from the Grounders. The Dreadmouth snarled in frustrated fury, but it halted its attack when it realized that it would lose a limb if it charged head on. One Grounder threw a mighty spear to hit it on its throat, but it was quick to avoid the attack. Growling even more, it started spitting a barrage of acid to one of the trees and made a swift swipe with its huge paws on its trunk where it fell in front of the Grounders.

_"It's trying to get away!"_

Ogon heard the Dreadmouth made some sort of amused scoff before it jumped back, where it plunged deep into the woodland.

Clarke felt a warm liquid touched her cheek, which sizzled and her skin stung like it got burned. Stunned, Clarke raised her head upward. She saw the same replica of the horned lion, albeit smaller in size, but with a mane frazzled on the tip and it was silver and hollow. It stood askew on the stump of the tree where the sky girl was leaning on with another batch of carcass. The beast stared at her with large, unmoving eyes and it grinned before it opened its sinister mouth, wet and hungry for the paralyzed meal.

There were two of them!

"Fuck!"

She was fast enough to spin out of the swipe of its claws. She heard it hiss in dissatisfaction and at the same time a voice shrieked with rage that matched the booming tempo. Before Clarke could turn to see who shouted, a spear plunged its blade on the mouth of the prey. The screech of pain nearly made Clarke's ears bleed. The beast's blood loomed splattered all around the dirt. She turned around aghast when something - someone - rushed at her and knocked her flat on the ground.

_"Your fight is over."_

The last thing Clarke remembered was the loudest bellows and the painful throb on her head before her vision turned white.

 

* * *

 

 

The sound of morning echoed all around the settled camp of the Sky People - commonly known as Camp Jaha (even though the original Chancellor was no longer with them). The welkin was clear - even clearer - as how it was when they saw if for the first time. The sun peeked out of the clouds and the feathered critters relent over the warmth of daylight. Everything seemed so peaceful and serene and it had stayed this way for the past few months. No fights. No chaos. The order that had been established among them had calmed the fear of the people and normality soon took over.

Bellamy Blake never really thought of living his life blended in neutrality and without purpose. When the war with the Mountain Men ended with a flick of a switch and the survivors were all rescued and returned home, everyone in the Camp had revered him as a hero. Men - soldiers and civilians alike - and even young boys (who hadn't had a speck of facial hair yet) all looked up to him with guns on their hands with the same vision of living valiantly and strong to protect their loved ones. Hero? He scoffed at the idea; the term man slaughterer would be more believable. He was not a hero. He could not have done everything without his friends. And at the end of the day, he could not even save the very person he truly valued. He felt the emptiness in that.

Bellamy took in the scene with one, all-inclusive glance, sighed and moved inside the compartment where his mechanic friend lives. He wondered if she was available at the moment, but he brushed off the worry when he heard metal clanking and a voice strained with irritation inside the room.

"You stupid fucking radio! I swear to god if you don't get your shit together," She picked up the transmission with one hand and gripped it with enough force to probably crush it - only it was already in oblivion in the first place. She picked a berry from the basket on the table and popped it in her mouth with her free hand. "I'm going to eat you like this little red thing in my mouth and you're not going to like it."

"That would probably taste great."

Bellamy almost chuckled, a feat of luxury even for him when he saw Raven nearly skyrocketed out of her seat.

"What do you want, champ?"  Gathering her composure, Raven asked bemused. Her hands moved back to the piece of junk and tinkered with the loose wires. "Get yourself together, ya piece of crap." She sighed and threw it on the ground.

"Raven," The smile on his face died immediately and now he sounded a bit exasperated. His tough demeanor cracked at the sound of emotion that came out. "It's been months already. We need to get out of there and find her wherever she is ." He paced past the tables (and a bunch of mechanical junk) and stood close to the brunette.

The brunette sighed. They already had this conversation just days prior and she knew her reply would not please her friend still. 

"You know Bellamy, I'd like to help you, really," She emphasized the last word and refused to look at the man just a few inches away. "But, the Chancellor has given an order that no one from Camp leaves the site without official permission."

Bellamy leaned his back at the wall. His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose as the frustration rose up at her words. A lot of things happened after the Coalition with the Grounders broke and their victory against the Mountain Men. The present Chancellor, Abby Griffin had made a consensus that no one from the Ark set out of Camp unless they were going to hunt for provisions. The fear among the Grounders still stuck in their being and the forest served as a grim reminder of the terror. It was their territory. The Sky People, regardless if they were armed to the teeth or not, were blind for combat inside the backwoods where Grounders lurked and blend with the thickets like each trunk and shrubs were a part of their flesh and bones.

They had been wary ever since. The trust between each people had been broken and it was the sole reason why they bunk with their tails between their legs; their wounds only theirs to lick.

What lived in the sky should not meddle with whatever lived in the ground. That was the greatest lesson.

"Have you tried speaking with her?" Raven continued, growing uncomfortable with Bellamy's silence. The tone in her voice had mellowed down a bit, seemingly aware of the apprehension in the room. Clarke, too, had been close to her. Whatever animosity they both had over Finn - until his apparent death had dwindled when the latter risked her life to save them from the Mountain Men. Clarke soaked her hands with the blood of too many and not knowing how that would haunt her for the rest of her life. It wasn't in her image, Raven thought, that she could not believe meeting someone who shone with such glamour, stood proud among the Delinquents with hair as golden as the sun and eyes clearer than the sky could selflessly - and mercilessly - eradicate men and be a splitting image of Death itself. All in the reason to make things right. Ironically, nothing had ever been right when they first landed on the ground.

Raven had every fiber of reason to do something in return - at least bring Clarke back in the Camp in one piece. If she was still alive, that is.

But there was one problem: no one was allowed to leave or sneak out like they would back in the Dropship. The rules had been established. For the past few months, they had lived a life without the burden of war, the burden of having to massacre people for oxygen supply or food. They were liberated to take whatever the Earth can give unlike their chained existence in the Ark and for the first time in what seemed like ages, they had appreciated what it meant to be alive. To be free.

This was their life now and, probably, Clarke, wherever land she could be at the present time had moved on too.

"Not yet. I'm planning to speak with her tonight and throw whatever excuses I can make. Her daughter is still out there in the woods for Christ's sake, fending for herself and I..." The words suddenly died before he could continue. He wasn't sure if anger or disappointment was fueling his urge to speak.

"...I can't wait anymore. I am going out there and find Clarke and rules be damned, I swear to god. I refuse to be caged in this metal prison while one of our friends is out there."

"Bell..." Raven stopped her word for a bit, unsure if she should be saying this. It had been a month since she disappeared after all. "Clarke could be..."

They could be chasing a ghost.

She was rattled when Bellamy slammed the table with both of his fists. His disheveled hair blocked the slight hint of sadness in those dark eyes, but Raven caught it, even for just a second before it got stormed away and the shrewdness returned.

"Look, I need your help to disable the wires so I can get out there without alarming anyone."

"They've reinforced the security after the battle. It could take me hours to disable it."

"But you can do it, right?"

She nodded.

Bellamy started pacing around the room. "I'll go to talk to Abby while you're at it. If she doesn't..."

"Before you get to the point of your speech where you won't give a damn if you get caught and get lashed---"  They both heard the door open and Octavia - along with Lincoln - walked in, proud and slightly dirtied. There was a track of blood smeared all over their faces which looked hauntingly pleasing together with their war paint. Back from the hunt, they guessed. "Let me just say right here and now that what you're thinking is not a good idea, big brother."

Bellamy saw Lincoln made a gesture of agreement, but he managed not to say anything. "Well, at least with the Chancellor being really strict with safekeeping and all. Not that it mattered to us since they literally kick us to get out and hunt for food." Octavia finished her words and went towards Raven, who gave her a glass of water with a grin.  "I doubt you'd even get past security, Bell, unless you join and be hunters like us."

He thought about that once. Bellamy had been a part of the security ever since. He was always good with a gun and took comfort with it strapped to his waist. He had all the general ideas of fighting - of survival - or even how to defend himself, but hunting in the woods, preying on natural preys; the waking scenario of that mutated panther that attacked them flashed in his mind. Those were different things. He had lost count of how many times he attempted to hunt for food back when they lived in the Dropship, only to go back home nearly tattered and bruised. The hurt had lasted at least a week before he got back to his feet again. There was a difference between simply having a weapon in your hand, ignorant of the right timing to pull the trigger and being trained with the rhythm of a warrior.

His sister, in her own unique case, had seemingly adapted to Grounder culture and had been seasoned as a fighter by both Lincoln and Indra.  It was a reasonable decision for the Council to add her to the Scouts which they send outside and into the woods to hunt. She had Grounder blood - figuratively speaking.  He had never seen her wild and so liberated. He no longer held her as much as that fact pains him.

"Clarke would probably know what to do in this kind of situation."

They were silent for a moment. Of course. Clarke was always the brain in their quest for survival. She'd go in all kinds of length to save each and every one of them and it was an automatic response for the Delinquents to follow. She was a natural. Bellamy, Raven, Octavia and the 100 respected her. So they know Clarke would brood and blame herself  for all the decisions she made. She'd rather die and shoulder the pain than share it to anyone.

"The Council will have a meeting later in the afternoon.  You can take your chances and request for Abby after it ends." Raven's voice broke the silence. "I'll ask Wick to help me bypass security. Here," She continued and handed a walkie-talkie to Bellamy. He took it with a firm grip and nodded at this friend, grateful.  "I'll let you know when we're done."

Octavia wasn't a hundred percent amused, but her brother could be the only chance they have to bring Clarke back. She had hoped that her friend was well. The woodland was not merciful as they all had deemed it to be.

"Then we will distract the men guarding the post to give you enough time to sneak out if all else fails." Octavia gave Lincoln an all-knowing look and he gestured back with a nod.

The group had agreed to start the operation under Bellamy's order.

But first, and perhaps the greatest challenge is that they need to make Abby understand. They need her to understand that they can bring her daughter back.

 

* * *

 

_ "Are you certain that she is the right person?" _

_ "Yes.  This girl is a part of the Skaikru. I've seen her once during the battle against the Maunon. Her presence here could be a value to us." _

Clarke woke all at once, as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown at her. She felt her body betray her for a moment, unable to move, limp, and heavy and she groaned at the throbbing pain on her head. She felt her back grounded and well-rested on something soft like ... a bed? Wincing, she shifted her gaze to the soft flame of the candle light beside her but everything was a blur.

She figured she was in a room. But it was not metallic or cube-like the one in the Ark. It smelled like the earth and the calming presence of a hearth. It was a room inside a cave. She should be terrified, but there was an odd comfort of being  wrapped in a sheet made of fur that Clarke did not bother to sit up. There was a smoke looming in the room and it made her nostrils flare, but it was somewhat..soothing. Her eyes felt heavy all of a sudden.

_ "It's okay. You're safe here." _

Clarke was quick to respond when she felt a soft hand touched her forehead.  She sat up on the bed with a start, her heart thudding in her chest. Danger had always been the greatest whisperer to Clarke like it always hanged on her back and it did not take her a second to raise her gun and aim it towards the person in front of her.  Surprised at the sudden shift of movement, the woman sitting beside her raised both her arms. Clarke noticed that there was a basin on her lap with a wet towel, and bottles of medicine placed on the floor. Clarke eyed her with genuine curiosity which garnered a response from the woman with a small smile.

_ " Your fight is not over yet, Clarke kom Skaikru" _

Trigedasleng. Great.

"Who are you? And where am I?"

The voices in the background had stopped once they heard the distressed voice.

_ "I have been assigned to take care of your wound. Please," _  She noticed the confused look that flashed across the sky girl's face. "Lower your gun and let me help you." She finished in English and Clarke hummed silently, her gun lowering but her cold stare did not falter.

Sensing the violent intent had subsided, Clarke noticed the woman move her head to the side to pique her interest. When she followed with her eyes, she saw two figures towering above her;  their eyes unmoving and appraising like the Dreadmouth she had encountered. They were all armed to the teeth.

Ogon and Echo. Just great.

"You grace us with your presence, you, who everyone now calls 'The Great Destroyer of the Mountain'." Ogon's baritone voice boomed.  He looked at Echo, who gave him a nod before she looked at Clarke with both a hint of respect and fear.

"The Commander will be glad to see that you're still alive and intact."

And with that, they heard a gunshot, and Clarke, surprised like all of them stared at her hand with the weapon clutched so tightly around her fingers, aimed particularly at no one. The fume seeped out of the barrel and the Grounders became instantly alarmed, weapons all raised and pointed towards the sky girl who looked at all of them with haunting eyes.

"If she's all glad and shit that I'm alive, then," The gun cocked. The anger once again consuming her. Clarke gritted, "Bring me to her. Bring me to your Commander."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am particularly more interested with those animal folks in the show (and the relationships of the characters, of course) and I think season 3 should feature more of them. The Dreadmouth was something that came into mind, and I wanted to portray something powerful like the sea snake in season 1.
> 
> Don't worry. You'll hear about Lexa in the next chapter. I am carefully mapping out how the events will turn out so sit tight, folks.


End file.
